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but she was hardly calm. The warm leather seat felt like a lover’s hand against her ass, and her eager fingers moved down between her legs. She parted them wide, feeling crude and savage and vulgar as a street whore, lifting her legs up over the chair arms and scooting further down in the seat, with both hands tearing at her convulsing pussy. Her fingers probed her cunt hole as deeply as the position allowed. She fucked herself with her right hand, while rubbing her clitoris with her left. Her inner muscles clenched tight, relaxed and clenched again, and many more times over as she worked herself to climax. Her passions were unguarded in the safety of the familiar den, and her desire crescendoed rapidly. In her mind, there were masters and men surrounding her, goading her with sneering faces and their whips snapping at her naked flesh.
She broke the action once, by command of the unknown master lodged inside her mind, who insisted she remove her blouse and bra and bare her tits to his unseen eyes. She sat up, practically ripping the buttons apart as if there were a whip ready, waiting to hound her into compliance with the cutting bite of its sting on her bare arm. She cast her bra aside, taking a deep breath as she pushed her naked breasts forward like an offering; and lifting them to her lips, she kissed the moist and aromatic surface. Then she settled back again, slumped in the chair, obeying that anonymous inner commander, hooking her legs over the chair arms, and bringing herself back to the brink of orgasm.
What she lost in momentum was quickly restored, so her savagely working fingers, that probed her cunt hole, and pinched her nipples until she moaned, and slapped her pubis with blows like that of a paddle, took her to that bitter edge, where she was forced to teeter precariously in anticipation of the master’s next command. She backed off from the precipice a dozen times, all because this disembodied spirit told her to in a voice that barked its orders. She feared the consequences of disobedience; she would have to punish herself in some brutal act of contrition if she failed the man. Again and again, she reached that exquisite high, then backed off until her inner mind began to beg like she would beg a flesh and blood master who held her pleasure, or her pain, in his miserly grasp.
At last… at last… “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, yesssssssss,” she quietly breathed out, and her crotch writhed against her hands, her clit rubbed more, her cunt hole finger-fucked, energy billowing from her at first in sharp and grinding spasms. She winced, her face twisted, then in softer surges of pleasure, like waves crashing against a beach, the orgasm played out to its finish.
The eyes of her masters looked down on her in judgment. Their cruelty made her desire to come again strong and very real. But Laney stopped herself, exhaustion making it almost impossible to attempt another masturbation. Then, of course, the voice in her head had stopped speaking, and the images of men around her vanished. She was almost too embarrassed to believe that her obsession had turned into such a violent frenzy.
She had been weakened to the point that she slid from the chair, naked now, and crawled five feet to the leather couch, where she used to lounge reading law briefs, while Erik was busily engaged in his own work. Its cool surface comforted her heated body. Even now, she could sense the tightness in her body where Alex had worked her with the strap, the whip and the cane, sensations she’d ignored since the incident, and had that night burst in on her like raiding warriors to assert their power. She knew that marks remained where Alex had beaten her; they became her visions, the voices in her mind, the masters of her body, assuring her that she could not make herself forget, no matter how hard she tried. There was not enough will inside a body as desirous as hers to impede the knowledge of her true nature as a submissive woman, and what that true nature demanded she do.
She sunk into a deep but troubled sleep.
Several hours later, Laney woke chilled and pulled an afghan she’d made two winters ago over her body. She slept some more. About five o’clock, according to the hallway clock that struck the hour and each half hour, she woke again. This time she awakened completely and sat upright on the couch with her eyes fixated on the second book, the Marquis’ diary. Wrapping the afghan around her body, she moved from the couch back to the leather chair, and taking the book from the table, she opened the cover, paged through several pages—for reasons completely unknown to her—and then began to read when her eyes settled on…
June 15th… The new arrival is expected tomorrow. I’ve been assured that this one has the temperament I’m looking for. The body is nice enough from the pictures, a classic beauty, dark hair, dark eyes, although it is difficult to tell the color for sure, and pale skin. I have a penchant for pale skin since it marks so easily with the whip and the marks keep their color, and the welts their explicit shape for days.
June 17th … Indeed, my new property arrived in fine shape. I made my usual physical inspection, measured the breasts, and the depth, shape and volume of her cavities. Anal proved difficult for this little beast—I shall call it little beast—there is a bite in the eyes—sky blue eyes—of course that bite will be beaten from her. After my measurements, I began that regimen. Floggings morning and night as usual. As needed otherwise. I caged little beast in the dark, which this one is particularly afraid of. There is no use coddling them…
June 19th … I am making great headway with my new acquisition. And am quite fond of the pretty face, the lovely eyes, the lustrous hair, which I’m afraid I had to be cut off. Little beast looks like a boy now, though there would be no mistaking it for one, given the shape of the physical body—and the equipment. I must remind myself that this one has been promised to Alain. I am no more than the trainer and this subject is sure to pass through my hands much too quickly for me to relish all of the accoutrements offered. Crawling supine, belly, breasts and crotch to the earth was a first accomplishment, aided by the whip. These ones never seem to learn otherwise. Ah! But those cuts were such a pleasure to deliver! Watching as the welts formed across the white expanse of the back and buttocks has become one of my fondest enjoyments. Round little globes those ass cheeks are. As soon as the wailing thing calmed, I dropped to my knees, pulled apart those succulent ass cheeks with my clenching fists and opened the ass to receive my organ. It didn’t take long given my state of arousal, and the cries were pitiful, to which I had to comment afterwards, reminding the little one that crying is not allowed. At least not with me as the master. I gave the thing some succor by not immediately stringing the beast’s arms up to the rafters for a chastising punishment. Soon enough, soon enough. Little beast will dangle by the arms suspended, gaining the strength to support the body. The suffering only expands, but like the others acquisitions I have trained during these thirty years, this one will come around, finding in the duty of compliant performance more grace and beauty than would otherwise be possible. My properties are never ordinary in any way…
Laney put down the book, realizing that her body was chilled and she was shivering, cold as stone. A deep breath brought some life back to her limbs. Moments later, she felt a pulsing heat in her crotch. She was hardly surprised. Lips parched, mouth dry from too much ragged breathing, she reached for a glass beside her, half filled with day old tea. It was enough to cure her immediate thirst and she returned to her reading. Nothing about the narrative surprised her. And yet, the arrogance, the haughty distance the Marquis described between him and his property, and the unsettling details, were enough to chill the sun, to stop its orbit cold.
June 25th … suspension training is going well, but requires a good deal of punishment to properly implement. We’ve had to take a break for some wounds to heal.
July 5th … after resuming the training, I’m finding a much more compliant property. I suppose a week in the trap has been the only way to ferret out the continuing resentment. But I’m seeing a much more compliant subject now. The only concern is: will it stick? After one day out, it’s too soon to tell…
July 10th … suspension training much better now. Later today, we began the suspension bondage. Much straining follows, but the silence was a good sign. Although,
I had to use a gag, I’m afraid. I much rather see a mouth stretched wide to receive a cock, not some ugly ballgag that distorts the face…but one does what one has to do to achieve the desired results.
July 25th … A little more than a month. How time flies. Little beast is almost done with the initiation. I’m glad of it. There is too much strong feeling in me to have this one here any longer, only knowing that I’ll have to give the thing up to another man. While having a property achieve total selflessness is always my goal, I’ll have to let Alain finish in his own way.
After I am done with this property, Alain will send it on for the physical enhancements before he receives the shipment. I argued with Alain that the breasts were too perfectly formed to be tampered with, but some men have fetishes that refuse to take perfection into account. An augmentation of two bra cup sizes will we be ordered and I’m sure will be carried well.
Below the narrative, which continued for two more pages, were a couple of notes scribbled in the margins as reminders:
1) Need to order up the standard wooden crate… tomorrow!! Pick-up date scheduled for Friday. Delivery to Dr. Roman immediately following. Must relay that message to the clinic.
2) Send note to Gerard from the bookshop to ready my old journals for delivery. (So glad he found them intact in the barracks.) Must order a secure courier to his shop…by the Bibliotheque Nationale…Write down directions!!!
Laney stared at this last entry, blankly at first, but the excitement soon gathered in her belly. She stopped reading and began searching through the diary for dates, the year to be exact… finally 1999 caught her eye. She searched more, becoming sure that the missal was that recent. She would call her friend Corinne in Paris to verify the shop’s existence. In the morning, in the morning… she could hardly wait. She paced the room, her head filled with swirling thoughts, plans, making plans. Of course, nothing could be done until after the trial, and the trial would last another two weeks. Unless she could get Amos to finish up, which he’d be better at doing.
She stopped her pacing as she listened to the hall clock chime the half hour.
Dammit, Laney, what a silly goose you are! It was daytime in France; she could call Corinne now!
Going straight to the phone, she flipped through her phone book, finding the number of the pretty blonde she’d roomed with at Cornell. The Marquis’ diary remained opened to that last page. After she’d spoken to Corinne she’d read more. Until morning. Until it was time to shower and return to court. She was too keyed up to sleep and there was so much to do.
Chapter Eight
Lust and imagination created Paris as an orgy of the senses. There was no better place for Laney to search for her absent master. Yet, it was determination and a good map that led her through the maze of streets to find the bookshop that Corinne had located near Bibliotheque Nationale. She could have taken a taxi, but somehow that seemed crass in these circumstances. This was a humble mission that required a submissive to think and feel humbly. Besides, she needed the brisk walk in order to gather her courage and set the mood.
Laney walked the ten blocks from her hotel, map in hand. Initially, she’d intended to stop for espresso at one of the open-air cafés but she was too anxious to put any more time between herself and her mission.
Suddenly, the book shop was there before her. Like so many things in the cities of Europe, the edifice seemed like a miniature, a replica built in modern time. But in truth it was very old, along a block of old and picturesque shops—a bakery, a clothing boutique and a jewelry store, she recognized right off.
Her hand touched the doorknob and she stopped. The urge to flee almost made her turn away, but then the door opened in spite of her hesitation, and an old man, wearing a beret and carrying an umbrella elbowed past her. She was drawn inside by the smell of old books and the promise of her mystery solved.
